


Menschenmörder

by Ruko (reonkuwataa)



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels), Fate/Grand Order, Fate/type Redline
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Trans, Biting, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Choking, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Cutting away clothing, Decapitation Scar, Implied homelessness, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kidnapping, M/M, Mana Transfer, Stitches, Strangling, Sword vs Knife, Tattoos, Time Skips, Torture, Trans Male Character, Trans Okada Izou, Vaginal Sex, Womb Tattoo, it's strade of course there's blood and gore and then with izou it's just doubled, mainly bc i didnt bother writing out fights nor long stretches of time, microchipping, obligatory puppy jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reonkuwataa/pseuds/Ruko
Summary: Based off of an RP idea between me and a friend. In short, two of the author's favorite bloodthirsty motherfuckers from completely different works of fiction end up relating more than two people ever should at all.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

This bar was no different from any other, really. At least, it wasn’t in the eyes of Okada Izou. Who cared where he was? All that mattered was that he got as much drink as he could into him for as much money as he could give. Thankfully, the last job he’d done paid him quite handsomely, with either enough for half as many actual good-quality drinks as it’d usually take to get him drunk… Or, the smarter choice, enough cheap beer to get him blackout.

One could guess which he chose.

What he was pressed for was time, as it turns out, as he felt someone approaching him from behind. He heard a voice, a deep voice with the slightest timbre as well as the thickest accent:

“Mind if I have a seat with you, buddy?”

Izou tensed. He wasn’t blackout yet, but he was at least pretty sloshed-- Just not enough to start blacking out and sobbing like a bitch unprovoked. He could risk it, maybe, after getting a good look at the guy. Slowly, his head turned, narrowed eyes looking back over his shoulder at the owner of that voice...

Who, sadly, looked like just a normal guy. A bit unshaven, a physical trait they shared some common ground in. His skin looked like it’d seen its fair share of the sun; a scar ran from his jaw to just short of the left corner of his lip. Interesting, but he’d yet to hear an actually  _ impressive  _ story from any scar that the living bore. Eventually, he sighed, turning his gaze back to the bar in front of him.

“Do whatcha want.” Seemed that the stranger took that as a ‘yes’, the scent of sweat on the air as he slid onto the barstool next to the manslayer and ordered a beer for the both of them. So he was buying his drinks, huh? If anything, that was just less financial strain on a Servant doomed to eternal poverty. But it came at the price of him just opening his mouth again, leaning a little closer to Izou with a smile on his face.

Why the hell did he find that smile so annoying?

“You seem down,  _ freund. _ What’s on your mind?” Was this idiot for real? Okada couldn’t help but shoot him a bewildered gaze, probably an overreaction since he looked more like he saw lobsters crawling out of the stranger’s ears. At least the guy seemed to get the hint, but he just laughed it off like some asshole. “What, don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Matter’f fact, I don’t.” A calloused hand came to adjust his scarf, pulling it just the slightest bit further over his stubble-lined chin. Was that the best idea when he was trying to keep his voice to a bit more than a whisper? Probably not, but he couldn’t help that sort of reaction. “It’s a long-ass story and yer prob’ly pressed for time, but if yer so goddamn curious: It’s work issues. I’m a… Contract worker, an’ gettin’ new jobs is hard nowadays.” Not a lie, but certainly not the whole truth, and it usually got people off his back. Once their beers arrived, Izou wasted no time in drinking it down before the foam even had time to settle. The more reason he had to avoid talking, the better, and the drink was a pretty nice bonus.

“Work troubles, huh?” The stranger’s voice sounded sympathetic, at least, as Izou took that oblivion-seeking slurp of his drink. “Sounds like a pain. No wonder you’re down.” Mhm. Yep. That’s great. His mind was already cycling through automatic responses as he tuned out whatever this guy was actually saying, more focused on the glass that chilled his fingers and palm in his grip. He didn’t really realize he was practically chugging the damn thing until he looked back down to a nearly-spotless glass. The stranger just laughed again.

“You can put ‘em away with the best of ‘em, bud! What’s your name?”

Ugh. Would this never stop? It wasn’t like he could keep drinking to avoid talking, anyway. His mouth opened, then quickly shut; he very nearly said the handle he’d used in his rather illustrious career of street killings wherever he went. So many places, so many languages, it all translated to the same thing, his personal signature: Manslayer. He’d almost cooked his goose, there. Maybe it was better to take the drinks more slowly for now.

“...Okada. Izou Okada, I guess, is what my name’d be to you.” Of course he was forced into giving his True Name in a circumstance like this. What were the odds someone out in the west would recognize him easily, anyway? Judging from the stranger’s reaction, that was a thankfully safe choice. No surprise, nothing but just the same cordial cheerfulness he’d been showing all damn night.

“Okada, huh? Well, a pleasure, Okada! I’m Strade.”

Strade. Izou’s mind raced for all but a second before piecing things together, namely the name and accent. So this guy was German. For some reason, that felt almost nostalgic, making him think of a time and place far away from here. A time and place far away, where he had a pretty cool hat-- But the past was the past.

A few beers and some light conversation, mainly one-sided on Strade’s end, Izou slowly stood from his barstool, just a little off-balance. His eyes looked sullen and sallow still, blinking slowly, but he still spoke up a little too loudly now that he’d loosened himself up enough.

“I’m gonna hit the road.”

“Aww, so soon?” The tone in Strade’s voice felt only partially disappointed, yet what made up the rest of it remained indeterminable for Izou despite it being so familiar. With a hiccup and a sway, he simply nodded.

“Gotta find a place t’sleep. Place t’set up an’... Advertise.” He only realized how much he gave away after the words left his mouth; he’d practically just told this guy he was homeless. Ah, how alcohol always made a bigger fool out of him at the worst of times. He could tell he’d gotten himself in trouble, too, because it didn’t take long for Strade to speak up.

“A place to sleep? I could help with that! I can at least put a roof over your head for a while, if you’d like.”

Now, that offer got Izou thinking. He could certainly benefit from having shelter from the incoming rainfall for the next few days, if the newspapers were any good with their forecasts. And if he liked this Strade guy’s house enough…

**He could just claim ownership by force.**

“Ah, what the hell,” Izou finally spoke up, voice teeming with a bit too much twisted excitement, “s’been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of central heating.”

Though, perhaps, a red flag should have been raised when Strade kept an arm around the Manslayer as they left.

A bigger flag should have come from his car having no interior handle on the passenger side.

But the only time Izou realized something was amiss was by the time he was blindfolded, hands restrained.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real, and I'll admit that when I originally wrote this part, it was while I was a little tipsy, myself. Be gentle with me here.

Slowly waking and coming to his senses, Izou groaned. He wasn’t too hungover, at least, but he certainly wasn’t in peak condition. He felt cold cement beneath his knees, and his arms held above his head--

And after an experimental tug, he realized he’d been restrained. Tied with some plastic thing to some metal pole somewhere, in the dark, on a cold, cold floor. Was this Strade’s idea of keeping ‘a roof over his head’?! Panic set in as he tried surveying his surroundings, squinting to try seeing in the dark, yet rising adrenaline made this easier said than done. All he could really do was call out into the darkness, his voice booming with an annoyed growl:

“ **Where the FUCK am I?!** ”

That certainly seemed to get some sort of attention. Listening closely, he heard footsteps bounding down the stairs in quite a hurry, the flash of the fluorescent lights in the room stabbing his eyes, making him squint once more.

And there was Strade. Smiling, just like he was back at the bar.

“Wow, you weren’t down for long, huh?” Now Izou could recognize what he didn’t before when it came to that tone in Strade’s voice-- It was some deranged _excitement._ Honestly, he felt like an idiot, considering the many times his own voice took the same tone. “You’re certainly louder than you were back at the bar, too. You doing alright, there? No hangover?”

Perhaps it was because of his abject surprise, but all Izou could do at first was shake his head stupidly at the question. Not like he could put the words together to explain the strange limbo between healthy and hungover he was in, anyway. When words did come to him, his questions were ceaseless, and none-too-subtly aggressive. The part that made him even more furious was how easily Strade answered almost all of them.

“I already said, where the fuck am I?!”

“I wanted to get to know you better, and you said, yourself, that you didn’t have a place to sleep. So I brought you to my home!”

“Then why ain’t I in a bed, huh?”

“Don’t have a guest bed, sorry!”

“Why’m I tied up?!”

“So you won’t get away, of course!”

“And what the everlovin’ _fuck_ do you think yer gonna do that’d make me wanna get away, huh?!”

That was when Strade just looked down at him with the same wide smile, the one he found annoying back at the bar and found even more annoying now. “We’re gonna get to know each other, that’s all.” With that, he squatted down to better look Izou in the eye, looking him up and down. “But before we get started, did you need anything to eat? Maybe a drink?”

Izou’s thoughts went in two directions then: One said that a drink would be just what the doctor ordered right about now, considering the amount of inane bullshit he’d just been ballasted with. The other direction was a more rational one, as he wondered what the hell they were going to ‘get started’ with at all. He didn’t necessary _need_ to eat, so that option was really only an option at all if he was offering food that Izou particularly liked. Which, well, that was pretty doubtful. Eventually, his gaze trailed away from his ‘captor’ as he mumbled into his scarf.

“... I s’pose a drink would be fine.”

Strade simply nodded, that smile just beaming, as he moved to a little minifridge off to the side. Izou couldn’t see what was inside from where he was, but he was at least relieved to see the same cheap beer he was knocking back at the bar. To find familiarity was to find comfort, in his mind. However, once Strade cracked the can open himself and put the mouth of it to Izou’s lips--

“I’ll drink it myself.”

That brought Strade to pull the drink back, raising a brow before laughing. “Oh, _will_ you? You can go ahead and try, but I don’t think you’ll really be able, _kumpel_.” It was a genuine doubt, but Okada only heard a challenge to his hubris. Flexing his arms just a bit, he tugged at the zip-tie holding him in place--

And managed to snap it in two, in one quick motion, much to Strade’s surprise. The genius swordsman merely smirked, reaching for the beer, mouth open as he was just about to brag on himself for his prowess and strength.

But if that wouldn’t work, other measures would have to do. Strade’s free hand took Izou’s wrists to hold them to the pole instead, that annoyingly cheerful smile finally faltering as he held the beer to his lips again.

“Well, well. I didn’t know you were quite so strong. Not a bit of damage after that, either… You really are something else, aren’t you, Okada?” The can was now forced to his lips, tilted up so that he was forced to do nothing but drink. “I’ve got a nice alternative, thankfully-- I’ve just not had to use it before. But you’re the first exception! Isn’t that exciting?”

The alternative, as it turned out, was police-grade handcuffs. His arms held above his head once more, the chain was wrapped behind the pole as the cuffs remained on each wrist at the front, leaving Izou uncomfortably looped on. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to break out of these nearly as easy, nor as quickly as he’d broken the zip-tie, but he would probably be able to slip out of at least one cuff at some point. Maybe.

It was just a nuisance more than anything else.

Soon enough, Izou had been made to chug down the whole can just as he’d chugged that glass back at the bar, his nerves and head at least a little calmed from a bit of that hair of the dog. Closing his eyes, he let out a little sigh, much to Strade’s delight.

“Feeling better?”

“Mm, yeah. A bit.”

That was all he needed to hear, it seemed. Strade just wordlessly pulled out a large hunting knife from the belt-loop of his pants-- One that’d make anybody shudder and panic. But, of course, not Izou. He always just had to boast and brag, after all. At the sight of such a paltry blade, the Manslayer actually turned his nose up at it, not having learned his lesson from the looks of it with that grin on his face.

“Hoh, yer usin’ a blade that small? That’s ballsy of ya, but a mistake, y’know?” Maybe he liked to brag so much not just because of his pride, but how Strade furrowed his brow and lost a bit of that stupidly cheerful grin every time Okada showed just how confident he was. “You start with a proper sword t’incapacitate, then go in with a knife for finer details.” Honestly, Strade looked close to just cutting out poor Okada’s tongue before he made one little slip:

“ _What kinda Manslayer are you?_ ”

Izou’s eyes widened after the words left his mouth-- That stupid big mouth of his, landing him in trouble again. Strade, on the other hand, just stared with wide, unblinking eyes, head cocked to the side before he knelt down over Izou once more.

“I think you’re mistaken, _freund_ . I’m not the Manslayer that’s been going around. Do you… **Know** something about that one, though?”

Shit. Strade must’ve seen right through that regretful shock on Izou’s face. His gaze trailed away once more, his confidence and bravado suddenly dissipating as he couldn’t stop a bit of color from coming to his face.

“I-- I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.” Stupid. Not even he believed his own lie, let alone Strade. That knife lowered to his chin, then the flat of the blade was laid against that scarf that covered proof against that very lie.

“I’ll admit it, buddy. I’ve never had to get someone to talk like this before-- Y’know, telling me what they know about something. It’s exciting, but at the same time, I can’t help but feel it’s stereotypical. But if you know something about the Manslayer, then…” The knife was brought lower still, before finding the belt holding Okada’s gi folded shut and twisting behind the binding cloth. Gone was all that smoke and thunder from before, panic kicking in for Okada for only one reason: Not his survival, but the fact that if someone **knew** every explanation behind the Manslayer, he’d be putting a lot more than himself in danger.

With one slice, his belt was no more than a ribbon on the ground. The sleeves of his Inverness cloak, cut through like butter so that the entire garment fell at his back. His chest, scarred from battle and backwoods surgical procedures was on full display; all that remained was that ratty hakama and the fundoshi he wore beneath. What caught Strade’s attention seemed to be just below Okada’s navel, though.

“Hm? What’s that, Okada? _Ein tätowierung_?” One fear that flashed through Okada’s mind was that this guy could read Japanese. Sure, it was far-fetched considering the language wouldn’t be essential here. But that slight chance, no matter how low it was, certainly wouldn’t be zero-- His hakama was sliced down the middle. All that remained was that white fundoshi, his scarf...

And his mark. His signature. Tattooed in traditional calligraphy, right on the skin above his womb.

The sight certainly piqued Strade’s interest, his grin returning as he tapped his blade against his lip in mock pondering. “Quite the choice of ink, Okada! Interesting, interesting.” Okada growled, lip curling as he recognized that tone for what it was. Teasing. _Mocking._ One of the few ways to get him angry enough to kill on sight. However, his anger was cut short by the knife lowering to his scarf, his eyes wide and trained on that blade.

“Mind telling me what that says? It’s got to be something sexy for where it is, right? Something raunchy, maybe a little **personal**?”

With a tone like that, Izou didn’t know if he could afford to lie or not. His chest rose and fell despite him not actually needing to breathe, fighting panic and sheer rage in his mind to the point where his teeth grit as sweat fell from his brow.

“C… Can you read it?”

That seemed to be the wrong response, as that knife came closer to his scarf before lowering abruptly, the blade raking through Izou’s flesh and making him hiss in pain.

“If I could, why would I ask you? But if you won’t tell me, I suppose I have options. Make you talk, have a friend of mine take a look after I’m done with you… But I can’t help but think these characters look familiar, Okada.” With that, any hope of getting away with a lie went up in flames-- Genius a swordsman as he was, Izou could never successfully bluff unless his opponent was entirely in the dark. Fine by him, really, at this point.

Maybe then Strade would learn his lesson about _mocking_ him.

Those golden eyes shimmered as his pupils dilated, head slowly raising with his own deranged grin. While Strade’s smile could be called charismatic, even infectious, Okada’s was much the opposite: His lips curled in a way that felt more like an animal baring its teeth, his eyes alight with an obviously sick glee at what could only be the most horrible of thoughts playing out behind them. Okada even spoke much slower, in a lower voice than before as the words fell from his lips like so much blood dripped to the floor of Strade’s basement before, judging by the stains.

“ **_It says, ‘Hitokiri’. ‘M a n s l a y e r’._ **”

And from there, a grander statement begged to be made. Making use of his Servant strength once more, he yanked his cuffs to the sides hard enough to _snap_ the chain keeping him against that pole. His foot reeled back to kick Strade in the stomach, just enough to knock him on his back-- That way he couldn’t see Izou retrieve a certain sword from his belt as it faded into existence. What could be considered the grandest shock, whether on accident or purposeful bragging, was Izou’s scarf falling from his neck and shoulders, showing that deep scar lining the circumference of his neck in dark scar tissue that told a story all its own: The cut went all the way through his neck, but little stitches reattached skin to skin, flesh to flesh.

A memoir of his beheading.

One horribly worn-out shoe stepped atop Strade’s chest, that sword lowered to his face just as the knife was before. It honestly looked ridiculous, Izou having overpowered him in nothing but his shoes and underwear, but the fellow killer stood menacingly even so.

“I’m the Manslayer. Hitokiri Izou. _It’s a pleasure to meet you, Strade._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation time!
> 
> Freund: Friend (this one's almost a cognate, tbh.)  
> Ein tätowierung: A tattoo
> 
> Further notes:  
> I didn't put in kanji or anything like that to avoid looking pretentious, but I guess it looks just as bad in romaji? I'm full of insecurities from my weeb phase, be gentle.  
> This was where BTD and Redline mixed in a weird way, considering Strade's strength versus what we've been shown of Izou's brutality. Call it a stretch, but I'm taking the liberty of "if Izou can slice through both another sword and cleanly take off a human arm with his sword, he can likely break the chain of a set of handcuffs, and zipties are basically rubber bands".  
> The spacing is weird, likely because this was pasted from a Google doc I had everything written out on.  
> Also, using the reference sheet provided by lack to describe Izou's clothing gave me a very fun bout of guesswork. I also love that lack's own notes say that Izou has patchy jaw-stubble. Just drag him for it being messy, lack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here's where the sex happens. It is no prettier than what you'd expect.

Of course a minor skirmish ensued, pitting the greatest human strength against that of a Servant. But something rather peculiar to the both of them occurred after a while. Blades hit, blood spilled, both sides sporting quite horrible wounds at this point. But as knife was held to one scarred throat, sword held to a throat untouched…

Both parties were completely exhausted. Perhaps it was the thrill of meeting someone who could keep up with them, but all that adrenaline had left by now, only leaving behind fatigue as blood loss weakened the both of them. All they could do was, just… Stare at each other.

Strade was the first to break the silence. “Hah… So you’re the Manslayer, huh? You’re full of surprises, Okada!” Okada merely scoffed at that, rolling his eyes.

“You’ve barely scratched the surface. But I gotta admit, I like yer style, Strade. I’m not a very private sorta guy myself, but you can get shit done in more time somewhere like here.” Strade could only look on with that pleasantly surprised stare, laughing incredulously at the ridiculousness of this whole situation as he pushed his hair back with his free hand.

“Hah, ah… I think we can learn from each other. It’s certainly a shame, I’d love to keep you all for myself, or maybe even finish you off in a bit of vigilante justice, but considering just how much energy you have… I don’t know if I could keep up with you  _ every _ time, you know!” Neither of them really had the best sense of self-preservation, but neither of them were completely stupid. Strade knew his limits and could certainly recognize that Izou lacked these limits, and Izou? Well, if this guy could actually keep up with him and avoid losing parts, he was a cut far above every other human he’d encountered. Perhaps it was mutual respect, perhaps admiration for the other’s particular method of their common craft.

Strade couldn’t stop laughing to himself as he retrieved a small medkit from the basement’s cabinets. “Honestly, I can’t believe it. I really can’t. I managed to get  _ das menschenmörder  _ in my basement, of all people!” Turning back to Izou, Strade seemed completely nonchalant as he stitched his wounds back up without anesthetic, without even flinching.

“I think it’s fate. Don’t you, Okada?”

Honestly, he couldn’t answer for a moment, more impressed by the sheer willpower of this guy to just stitch himself back up like it was nothing. He  _ was _ human, right?  _ Just _ human? Well, what a hell of a human he was. Izou laid one leg flat against the floor, bending the other to rest his arm and head against his knee as he watched on idly. “I never put much stock into fate as a whole, but maybe it is. Think of the probability, two killers endin’ up in the same space. Low, ain’t it? But look at us.” Another warm laugh left Strade’s throat as he splashed his wounds with rubbing alcohol, only drying off what landed on unharmed skin with a worn-out rag.

“Look at  _ you. _ I’ve been tending to myself, but you surely need a little help, too.  _ Das menschenmörder _ still bleeds, you know.” That actually got Izou to cast his gaze aside, scoffing.

“You won’t believe it, but I don’t need anythin’ to heal up. ...Or, well, that ain’t entirely true.” Yep, that’s when both his best and worst idea sprung to mind. “Don’t stitch up that arm yet, gimme it. I won’t bite anything off.”

Well, that reassurance wasn’t very reassuring at all, but Strade had to admit that Okada was nothing if not  _ unique  _ in many ways. What would it hurt to indulge him, letting him see that blood-soaked arm?

And then Okada, in all his ‘wisdom’, started lapping up the blood from the wound. Like some sort of dog lapping at a waterfall, like a man parched in the desert at the bed of the oasis. That, that got Strade’s attention, and perhaps a bit more. His eyes widened, face flushed as Okada so tenderly suckled the fresh blood from him.

He didn’t even notice Okada was healing until the wounds were completely gone, the Manslayer giving his arm back and stretching a bit.

“See? Don’t need a thing but that. Granted, any fluid’s fine, but-- One, we just met. Two, blood’s the most potent.” The biggest mistake Izou made was talking with his eyes closed, not even noticing Strade closing in on him as his tongue ran along his teeth. “I don’t think you’d get it, but I’m somethin’ more than human. Far beyond it. One could say I’m superhuman, but even that’s wrong, see? I’m a--”

And that’s when Strade finally knocked him down onto his back, openly drooling despite that wound licked clean still hanging open. All Izou could do was let out a sharp cry of surprise, grinding his teeth as the back of his head hit the concrete. Strong as he was, pain still had a tendency to, well. Hurt like a bitch. Once he came to his senses, he stared up at Strade looming over him, straddling him, panting as one hand ran through those shaggy raven locks.

“ **_You…_ ** ”

Perhaps it was the panic he couldn’t help but show in his expression, however temporary, at the situation at hand-- What with this man who could very nearly keep up with him toe-to-toe now pinning him down-- But Izou came to realize whatever face he just pulled only excited Strade more. He looked positively  _ infatuated, _ though certainly not in a way coming even close to romance. Izou was simply left puzzling over what to make of the whole situation, almost not even noticing that knife from before cutting into his stomach.

Almost. But, well, pain hurts.

All he could do was widen his eyes, his back arching as his jaw dropped, letting out a soundless scream. His eyes rolled upwards as he began to pant, his body jerking with each new entry wound.

“ _ Hmm mmmm~ _ ”

Was Strade… Humming?

Even worse, it seemed like Strade was panting just as hard as the Manslayer beneath him, spreading his blood up onto his scarred chest with a low groan. “Look at that… You’re such a mess,  _ O-ka-da.~ _ ” Each syllable of his name was said with a certain weight, a certain tone, as if he were being seduced rather than slaughtered. “What a filthy little thing you are,  _ welpe. _ But you said any fluid from me will heal you, right? Blood being the most potent, but I do wonder…”

The next thing Okada heard was the sound of a zipper being tugged down. His attention was back in full after that, his head popping up to look down as Strade’s knife ran along the inner edge of the rope keeping his fundoshi in place. Shit-- There was no time to prepare, was there? All he could do was thrash with all his might as his legs were wrenched apart and that ‘pride point’ of his fully exposed.

“G-Get a fuckin’ hold’a yerself, man!! Get off me!!”

His pleas went entirely unanswered as Strade surveyed that bloodied body below him. That glimmer in his eye… It was almost frightening. That was assurance that, unfortunately, he liked what he saw. How his length throbbed and twitched when he fished it from his boxers just drove that point home, that drop of pre falling into one of his open wounds making Okada actually tremble.

“Oho! You have a hole I didn’t carve, here. Mm, but I don’t think any differently of you,  _ welpe. _ ...Or, perhaps I’ve changed my strategy just a little bit.”

Okada’s voice rang through the air, a shaky keen laced with panic that echoed off the cinderblock walls of the basement as Strade shoved himself ruthlessly into that bloodied cunt.

“I guess I have… Options, with you.~”

Okada tried to bring his hands to Strade’s chest, to push him off, but he’d been quite effectively weakened. Instead, his resistance was met with Strade slamming his hips more harshly against his prey’s, a thumb running over the Manslayer’s cheek as he shuddered in delight. Again, again, and again, his pace was deliberate and methodical. It was pretty apparent that he was focusing on savoring the feeling of Okada’s pussy around him, the tightness of inexperience and fear mingling into something perfect, surely. It wasn’t like Okada really cared. All he could do was try and fail to hide his face, tears dotting the outer corners of his eyes as he tightened around his captor and groaned from the combination of brutal pain and carnal pleasure. 

Another hoarse cry rang out from the Manslayer, eyes screwed shut as his body trembled. He didn’t even see the hand coming to his neck, taking a hold of one side. He wheezed out before Strade’s other hand took hold of the other side, both thumbs right above where his windpipe would be-- And pressed down, hard enough to crush it. The feeling of helplessness, being trapped, being denied air, that damned scar getting more attention than it ever rightly should…

Okada would be pretty embarrassed when he was in his right mind again, reaching his orgasm from all of  _ that. _

He expected to be taunted, teased, just like before. He expected comments about whether or not he’d gotten off when his neck was so cleanly sliced at his execution. But instead, there was only the noise of Strade grunting and groaning still as he kept that iron grip around his neck. That was a welcome surprise, at least. Okada’s eyes could only stay half-open at this point, hazy as he kept a watch on those hands at his neck, making sure there would be no chance at recovery as that length continued to drive into him time and time again. That slow yet brutal pace grew faster and faster, that crazed look in his eye only becoming more and more intense. Okada wanted to speak, if only to brag, or to deride him, or to spur him on in some way, shape, or form, but all he could manage was the grotesque noise of air trying to pass through his collapsed trachea.

That was enough, it seemed, to get Strade off. Buried fully within that blood-and-arousal-soaked cunt, he finally came with a growl, body hunched over Okada as his hands released his neck at last to cage him in with those thick arms, the Manslayer feeling rope after hot rope pouring into him. His brow furrowed as he tried his best to concentrate on putting himself together again. The amount of energy from that load dumped into him was certainly enough to slowly make the skin of his stomach stitch itself together, from the looks of it, but his neck? That might need some help. Thankfully, Strade left himself open in quite the unexpected way.

Their proximity was taken advantage of in full as Okada grabbed the collar of Strade’s shirt, their lips crashing together in a clumsy, messy open-mouth kiss. Despite his crushed throat, he could still use that tongue pretty well, that slick muscle tangling with Strade’s own as the infatuated killer could only stare still with wide eyes. Slowly, ever so slowly, his throat began opening again, but it just needed a little push more; that would be easy enough to pull off, at least. Those fearsome teeth Okada loved to bare chomped down into Strade’s lower lip, enough to draw blood to lap at and drink down yet again.

And that’s when his throat opened up fully again, with a little ‘pop’. The kiss broke, and Okada had never sounded more breathless in his life.

“Hah… Haha. Yer theory was right. Ya catch on quick, don’tcha?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation time!
> 
> Das menschenmörder: A very sloppy attempt at translating "The Manslayer" to German, since the official translation is just "slasher". However, I felt it better to have a title closer to the literal translation of "Man cutter/Man slayer" than just having Strade call Okada a slasher.  
> Welpe: Puppy
> 
> Further notes:  
> It was very weird getting that one dead end in BTD as a frame of reference for this chapter, mainly because the MC has a set personality and set responses where Okada's would have differed by a mile, but that's what using your IMAGINATION is for, bitch.  
> This is also a gross oversimplification of mana transfers, but what Fate loredick would ever come after me for not 100% portraying the process of mana transfers and the necessary candidates/components in a fucking self-indulgent crossover fanwork? (Hopefully not the ones I know.)  
> Also, a friend of mine said this scene would have been hilarious to use as an excuse in a more detailed thing to have Strade get Okada a muzzle. I didn't disagree.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, I suspend my own disbelief based on how Strade acts in canon. I suspend it so hard that it'd make fucking Elastigirl blush with how much of a stretch this is.
> 
> If you made it this far, I can only apologize from the bottom of my heart, but thank you just as much.

Time passed, hours spent together became days, weeks, months. Three months, to be exact, of “living” together in the strangest sense of the word. Sometimes Okada would be tortured, sometimes he’d watch someone else be tortured. Sometimes he had the chance to carve someone up, and those days were his favorites above all else. There never came any feelings resembling romance, but instead, an odd camaraderie. Mutual respect, admiration, some modicum of sexual attraction; but above all else, friendship. Or as close as these two could get to having friends in any capacity. By the time those three months passed, Okada almost felt a little worried-- After all, the last time he was this close to someone, well.

He’d been betrayed and sabotaged by him.

But, even after being forsaken in the last days of his life, this existence proved somewhat more merciful. The Manslayer rose again both with his brutal killings and the joy of having a friend, a blood-soaked phoenix with crusted feathers. That said, he did eventually come to some form of an agreement with Strade, negotiating his conditional freedom with all the business savvy he could muster.

“... An’ then I’ll come back every three weeks an’ spend the last week of th’month with you and yer kitsune-boy. Sound good to you?”

“I still can’t quite get over your word for ‘fox’. But, are you really certain you’ll remember?”

“Course I will. But if you want somethin’ more concrete, I’m willin’ to give it.”

Really, they’d been negotiating all afternoon. The idea of Okada having freedom to kill on his own yet ultimately be bound to Strade was something pitched many times, but never truly expanded upon. Now that the time seemed to come at last, the two of them finally put their heads together for a purpose other than bloodshed and torture. The problem was, well, actually coming to a proper compromise.

“What about a collar like Ren’s?”

“Oh yeah, where I can’t leave the property. That’ll totally make me untraceable as before. How about somethin’ remote-controlled?”

“What, you want me to try controlling your brain like a little toy car? That doesn’t work that way.”

“Look, I know I’m not smart, but I’m not  _ that  _ stupid! I meant like an armband that could be remotely detonated r’something, if I ain’t there on time.”

“... Perhaps a collar that--”

“I’m not wearin’ anything around my neck! Th’scar’s sensitive!”

“Fine, fine! But we’re running out of ideas. Of course, microchipping you to have your location at any given point would be a good idea.”

“Oh. Shit, yer right, yeah. But then there’s the whole ‘motive for me to come over’ thing. I do think I’m onto somethin’ with remote control. Maybe that shock collar, the microchip, th’remote control…?”

On and on, they planned and plotted, racking their brains and making the most of Strade’s knowledge in engineering and Izou’s explanation on just  _ what _ affected that strange body of his. The conclusion they reached, however…

“It’ll be put in the base of your spine. If you misbehave, I’ll press a button and release a current. From what you told me, it should just paralyze you for a few hours-- Plenty of time to think about what you did, or take a nap, or wait for me to come get you!” Despite laying face-down on Strade’s workbench in his basement, Izou couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Sounds good to me. Just don’t get in th’way of my own work, alright?”

“I’d never dream of it,  _ welpe. _ ...Now, take a deep breath, even if you don’t need it. This is probably going to hurt quite a lot.”

“Please. You done worse long ago.”


End file.
